


I Will Be Orpheus To Your Zombydice

by Kamalika



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, M/M, Nobody Dies, Not even the zombie, Zombies, just for the heck of it, totally nonsense storyline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 09:19:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12814452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamalika/pseuds/Kamalika
Summary: So, zombies are a thing, apparently. Fuck you universe!Unfortunately, they are less bloodthirsty than Stiles imagined. Some misunderstanding follows but since Stiles actually says it out loud all the things that he thinks he is not saying out loud, everything just falls into place.





	I Will Be Orpheus To Your Zombydice

**Author's Note:**

> DESPERATELY LOOKING FOR A BETA READER FOR MY ORIGINAL NOVEL, A YA FANTASY INVOLVING VAMPIRES AND VAMPIRE SLAYERS AND MAGES!!!
> 
> Anyone interested can contact me at my website at:  
> [www.theauthorkamalika.org](https://www.theauthorkamalika.org/)

So, zombies are a thing, apparently. Fuck you universe!

And of course it’s Stiles’ baby, his precious Roscoe, that is to be chewed upon like a dog treat because apparently, not only zombies are real, but ‘ _they only eat bright-coloured things, Stiles, and yes they are absolutely harmless unless you provoke them when they are eating, Stiles, what the hell, I thought you read about them in the bestiary_ ’ thank you very much, Derek Important-Information-Withholding Hale, and that ‘ _no, Stiles, they cannot differentiate between flowers and a piece of metal, they are called zombies for a reason_ (epic eye-roll)’.

And then, ‘ _what do you mean you have beaten it to death with your baseball bat, Stiles? It’s just a zombie, you pathetic wimp. It’s just an impotent mass of previously human limbs and no blood vessel…helpless and pitiful…how could you…etc_.’

Well, the last part of the sentence may have been _imagined_ by Stiles’ guilty mind at Derek’s indignant face, which is pretty similar to his ‘Stiles-what-the-hell-have-you-done-now’ face, but the crux of the matter is that Derek is annoyed and a little bit pissed; the two sentiments that Stiles seems to provoke in him in abandon. The rest of the pack looks on, slightly dazed and alarmed, though a little bit confused whether those emotions should be directed at the ‘dead’ zombie or a bat-wielding (totally badass, folks, totally badass!) Stiles or a righteously angry Derek Hale.

Stiles can only shrug sheepishly, though internally his heart is somersaulting over the fact that he, a puny human, has taken out an honest-to-God zombie. Metal-eating or petal-eating (heh, see what Stiles does there?), zombies are kind of gross, what with the whole constantly falling-off flesh and that godawful smell and who said it wouldn’t have tried to chew on Roscoe’s owner next. Stiles likes to think himself a bright and colourful fellow, not unlike a flower that is slowly blooming into its natural beauty, standing tall and proud and erect as the morn…(ahem!) well, this analogy may be getting a bit out of hand. Well, you do get the gist, anyway, but apparently, Derek didn’t.

Derek is still grumbling when they are disposing the zombie dead body (?!?!). It's a task Stiles has volunteered to undertake since he started to feel a little sorry for the dude (he was not sure if it was a dude, but it’s the thought that counts). Being dead twice, must not be fun.

Stiles is not sure why Derek accompanies him anyway. Probably to make sure he doesn’t kill it the third time. This new avatar of Derek that has come back to Beacon Hills one year after the Mexico incident is weirdly sensitive about such stuff. He actually cried when they had to kill the Minotaur during the last fairy dust incident, though it was Derek, ironically, who had landed the killing blow. They really had no other choice as the Minotaur had Scott pinned underneath and it was completely feral. It had to be either him or Scott and Derek cried afterwards…

“No, I did not,” Derek protested.

“Did I say that out loud?” Stiles asks, mortified.

“Yes,” Derek grinds out, looking oddly comfortable in the passenger seat of Roscoe. “And for the fiftieth time – I. Did. Not. Cry.”

“Dude, your eyes were red and puffy,” Stiles flails. “And you were rubbing at them.”

Derek grabbed the steering wheel with one hand without missing a beat. “Stiles!”

“Sorry,” Stiles winces, placing his hands on the wheel again, resisting the urge to pat down the dashboard for reassurance.

“Because, dude,” Derek mimicks Stiles with uncanny accuracy, “I had fairy dust in my eyes. The thing that was responsible for those creatures coming out of the fairy realm in the first place.”

“Oh!” Stiles deflates and scrunches his nose. “I don’t know if I am ever going to be able to wash that smell away.”

Derek is quiet for a few minutes before blurting out (more like, speaks really quietly, because Derek never blurts or stammers or flails, like ever) “You can try rosemary smoke.”

“What.”

“I thought I was the one without inflection.”

Is Derek teasing him? If he is, he is an ass because Stiles is not sure his heart is equipped to deal with a teasing Derek on top of a Roscoe-eating zombie.

“Did you just equate me to a zombie?” Derek asks, eyebrow arched.

“Did I say that out loud too?” Stiles screeches, feeling betrayed by his own mouth. Damn, no more curly fries for you, you traitor!

“You are stressed,” Derek says like a perfectly reasonable guy because, well because he is an asshole like that.

“Ugh…stop with the whole defending-the-weak thing,” Stiles nearly yells because he already kind of imagines Derek as a knight in shining armour, well instead of a white horse he has a dark sports car and instead of a metal armour he has his leather, and he may be a bit too grumpy for a Disney prince, but God, have you seen those bunny teeth or those dimples and don’t even let Stiles start with those green eyes and ebony hair and the fact that when he laughs it is like the whole world forgets spinning on its axis only to stare at the man…

Derek’s shoulders are shaking and his face is buried in his hands. Stiles parks the car on the shoulder and turns towards the werewolf.

“Derek,” he starts cautiously, not daring to move. “If I knew you would be this upset with me killing a zombie, I  would never have…see, I was conditioned by Hollywood movies and I know that I should have stopped myself and politely asked the zombie if he wanted to eat something else other than the door of my car instead of panicking and shit, probably should have said something along the line of ‘Mr. Zombie, dude, it’s good to see you since we don’t meet the likes of you nowadays and I am so privileged to see you in your rotting and stinking glory’…”

Derek hunches over, if anything, the shaking is now accompanied by wheezing breath.

“I will resurrect it for you Derek, please don’t cry dude!” Stiles reaches out to touch Derek’s shaking shoulder but thinks better of it in the last moment. “I will get it back in full working condition which, on second thought, may be a bit difficult without functioning organs, but hell I would harvest organs from graves for you man, I mean for your zombie and you can keep it in your loft for chewing on your visitors, which are mostly us, and I don’t even know why I would be encouraging you to keep a pet that would potentially chow down my skinny self with the emphasise of skinny, I mean, please remind your pet I am only skin and bones…but, well, I would do anything Derek. Just…don’t cry…OK…please…”

Derek’s head moves and he peeks up at stiles with one eye, still hunched over himself, and if that is not the most adorable thing Stiles has ever seen.

“Dude. I will be Orpheus to your Zombydice, I promise. Now, smile. Please. Just a little, tiny bit. Please, Derhmnph…!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!...nooooooo, where are you going…come back and kiss Stiles again…Derek, Derek…Derek, Goddamnit!”

“We need to dispose of a zombie, Stiles.” Derek is already hauling it out from the back seat and slipping into the forest, knowing Stiles will follow him like a lost puppy anyway, the all-knowing bastard. “We can hose down Roscoe afterward. _Then_ we can continue this conversation so that our olfactory memory is not flooded with the smell of a rotting dead body each time we kiss.”

“Was that really what we were doing?” Stiles scratches the back of his head trailing after Derek like a lost puppy (case in point). “Kissing?”

“No,” Derek says flatly, “I was just attacking your mouth. With mine. Exactly what a normal person who is attracted to another _normal_ person does.”

“What else would you want me to think?” Stiles says defensively. “One moment you were…OK, so you were laughing hysterically, and not quite crying, I get that, but how did you get to the kissing part from there and how did Imph...”

After a few seconds...

“Are you going to silence me every time like this?” Stiles murmurs against Derek’s mouth and he is NOT bothered that the zombie that Derek had dropped down in order to haul Stiles close may be stirring or more accurately, kind of writhing on the ground. It may wait. Derek nibbling little kisses on his bottom lip is obviously far more important than a zombie apocalypse.

“It seems to be the most effective way,” Derek replies, pulling back reluctantly and making a face at the zombie. “Well, it’s not dead.”

“Well, duh!” Stiles throws his hands in air. “It’s a zombie, dude. And I thought you would be happy to see it…undeading itself. You got so sad and depressed that I killed it.”

“I was worried about you, dumbass!” Derek rolls his eyes. “I was depressed to think about your _depressing_ life choices that led you to see a zombie and then running into the house and running out of the house again with a baseball bat and caving its skull in instead of locking all the door and windows and calling for a backup.”

“That is…oh!” realization dawns on Stiles’ face.

“Are you having an epiphany? Dude?” the zombie asks from the forest floor and both Derek and Stiles jump and look at it fearfully. “Can you maybe postpone it until you treat my headwound for which thank you very much, bitch, and give me some real food to chew on? Something that doesn’t smell like burgers and duct tape?”

“Hey, don’t insult the car.”

“What the hell?”

Stiles and Derek look at each other, dumbstruck.

“I think we are getting a pet zombie after all,” Derek shrugs finally. Stiles loves this new, completely Zen Derek who takes everything in his stride and just rolls with it.

“I will eat your brains,” the zombie threatens, trying to sit up and failing.

Stiles takes pity on it and helps it sit up. “Dude, you don’t have teeth,” he points out gently, not mentioning the fact that he has discovered it only after he had knocked it out and looked it over closely. “And you kind of…have zero motor coordination.”

“Maybe we can take him to Deaton?” Derek offers, peering down at the zombie. “See if he can be cured or something?”

“You will do that for me?” the zombie looks up at Derek with something akin to adoration in his eyes, or maybe his eyes are twitching from the worm that is trying to wiggle its way out of its socket. Stiles is not totally sure.

“Of course,” Derek says and he picks up the zombie again and starts walking back towards the car.

“You coming?” he asks over his shoulder and there Stiles goes again, the eternally lost puppy.

It is only when everything settles down and Dude is sipping coffee in Deaton’s office after being turned to human thanks to Scott (who knew alpha bite can cure undead condition and can turn a zombie into human, pretty much the same way it turns a human into a werewolf), that Stiles tackles a completely unsuspecting Derek to the ground and mashes their lips together.

When Derek comes up for air after a few minutes, chest still heaving, eyes still hooded and lips bruised and wet with spit (and what a sight, folks, what a sight) he clutches Stiles’ waist like he has no intention to ever let him go.

“What was that for?” Derek can speak at his third attempt and Stiles absolutely doesn’t fist pump at that.

“For being the sweetest sourwolf in the history of sourwolves,” Stiles grins down at him, trying to pet Derek's jawline, but managing to almost poke him in the eyes. Derek, very wisely, grabs his hands and kisses his fingers one by one, playfully nibbling at them, distracting Stiles from permanently blinding Derek.

“Aw, hell!” Dude pipes up as the pack breaks into cheers and catcalls around them, loudest of which is Kira, the traitor. “And I have to stay in his loft until I regain my human memory? With you two doing that every time you meet? What did I sign up for?”

“Shut up, Dude,” Derek and Stiles speak up in perfect unison and then they smile at each other again.

“That’s such a perfect name,” Derek whispers.

“I know, right? I think he can give you a run for your money though in the grumpiness department.”

“And what about the looks department?”

“He is very hot. I will not lie. But blond is really not my type.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Stiles leans down to cover Derek’s mouth with his lips again.

“Really?” Comes from the doorway.

Stiles shoots Deaton a betrayed glare.

"We need to ascertain his identity, Stiles," he answers serenely.

“Dad…I can totally explain.” Stiles squeaks.

“Maybe…from a different position?” The sheriff saunters into the room.

“What is my life even,” Stiles wails, standing up, pointing a finger at Derek who is yet to remove the hands covering his face. “The Stiles cannot even try to kiss the bejesus out of his decade-old crush before either a supernatural creature or his own father plays the perfect cockblock.”

“Oh my God,” Derek mutters, still hiding behind his hands.

The sheriff chuckles before coming forward and patting Derek on the shoulder consolingly. “Do not fret, son. We all share your feelings.”

Derek looks at him and his face can probably rival a ripe tomato. “I hope not?” It comes out a bit strangled.

“Huh, good one, Derek," the sheriff gives him a quick, one-armed hug. "And welcome to the family."

Derek looks punched in the gut. Then, he straightens up. “Sir, John, I promise you I will love your son until the end of time and will never tell him when you sneak into Cathy’s Diner on the Friday nights.”

The sheriff waggles a warning finger at Stiles. “Son, if you are wise, _never_ let this man go.”

Stiles looks at Derek and Derek looks at Stiles.

“I won’t,” he says softly and surges up to Derek who catches him easily.

“Dude!” Dude complains, but no one takes him seriously. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello beautiful readers,
> 
> I wanted to share with you my excitement over the fact that finally, I got **my original fantasy novel** published. Please visit my   [website](https://www.theauthorkamalika.org/)  
>  for more information. It will mean the world to me if you show me the same love and support as you did with my fanfics :)
> 
> I am really, really desperate for a few reviews (all constructive criticisms are welcome) under my belt. It is an uncharted territory for me (to publish my original works, that is) and unfortunately, I don't have many friends I can count upon who care about my writing (that is to say, none of them do). All I have is you, the wonderful, amazing readers of my fanfics who inspired me to write and publish my original works in the first place. So, I would really appreciate if you check it out.
> 
>  [www.theauthorkamalika.org](https://www.theauthorkamalika.org/)


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